


The Way Out

by neuroglam



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: I would certainly not be offended if in the future you see this going there, JJ comes of age, M/M, Ota is just a tad too disturbingly intense and obsessive, Otabek Altin/Jean-Jacques Leroy/Yuri Plisetsky if you squint, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky - Freeform, They all need therapy, Victor Nikiforov/Yuri Plisetsky and CPOS Victor because that's who I am as a person, a variety of ethical and unethical sluts, but it works for Yurio with his mile-wide abandonment issues, everyone is a raging dumpster fire except for Ota
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-10-23 20:12:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17690144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neuroglam/pseuds/neuroglam
Summary: Otabek and JJ meet as kids but don't fuck until long after. A JJ coming of age thing.





	1. Never Had A Friend Like That

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KuraiOfAnagura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuraiOfAnagura/gifts).



The Kazakh boy comes to train with JJ’s parents the summer before JJ turns twelve.

At first, JJ doesn’t like it, his parents taking on another kid who’s preparing to break into seniors—someone the same age as JJ, someone from outside the family. But one night he overhears them talk, quietly, while they think everyone’s asleep. About how much money JJ's training and travel to events will cost, now that JJ’s about to start competing on a whole new level. About how the new kid’s parents are loaded. About how the Leroys are getting paid for his dad's coaching and his mom's choreo, but also for getting extra furniture, and for room and board, too. When the Kazakh boy leaves, they can use the bed for JJ's little sister.

So he makes space in his room for the new bed and dresser, and frees up space in the closet. He resolves to be grown-up about this; to respect his parents’ sacrifice and treat the new kid as best as he can.

 

**

 

Surprisingly, the new guy isn’t a spoiled brat like JJ's dad says rich skaters are. Otabek is quiet and a little shy, and listens carefully when JJ tells him about bedtime, picking up after yourself, and how to work the washing machine.

He follows his meal plan without complaint, eating even the spinach and shit—stuff that’s super nasty even if it's good for you.

He asks to be put on the chore chart when he finds out JJ and his siblings all help out—and sucks sore at everything, like a kid that’s never held a rug in his life. Which, to think of it, he probably hasn’t, what with being loaded and all.

So JJ makes sure to check up on him and help out: tells him to make sure to get all the corners, and to wipe things in straight lines so he doesn't just smudge stuff around. He teaches him to load the dishwasher and to separate his laundry.

Otabek listens and tries the same as he does when JJ's dad tells him things at the rink.

 

**

 

Between the two of them, JJ is the better skater. The new kid isn't as strong and needs to practice lots of stuff that JJ knows already. "It's because he doesn't have a coach with him all the time, just during breaks," JJ's dad says and smiles at JJ whenever he sees him help. You can tell Otabek really wants to learn, too, so JJ tries to teach him as much as he can.

JJ likes helping. It’s kind of neat when Otabek gets it and grins, or pumps his fist in the air. 

Otabek is also proud and stubborn. About a week and a half in, he waits until JJ's dad goes to the bathroom tries a double axel out of the harness. He falls flat on his butt—of course he does, everybody knows you don't do shit without the harness if coach doesn't let you.

It doesn’t look like an actual injury, but it's fucking spectacular. Otabek plonked right down on his bum, his legs spread out to the sides, his face with the most ridiculous expression ever.

Otabek gets all red, curses and punches the ice.

JJ knows how that is. “Hey, you OK?” he says, skating over.

Otabek nods, and, if possible, gets even redder.

JJ reaches out a hand. “It’s no big deal, it happens to everyone. Plus no one saw and I’m not telling, so.”

Otabek nods and lets JJ pull him up. By the time JJ’s dad returns, none the wiser, they're both back on the ice.

 

**

 

The part JJ didn’t expect is that with another kid in your room, you can’t really wank. Athletes should do it as little as possible anyway, JJ dad says—it’s bad discipline and it saps your strength, so JJ always tries not to wank much—but _damn_. He's really feeling it by the end of two weeks. 

If he’s not thinking about rubbing one out, his eyes seek out every single object with a hole that he can try to stick his dick in.

It’s how he ends up doing the absolutely dumbest and most embarrassing thing he’s ever done in his life. 

It's not even because wanking is hard to resist. It's just, it turns out when he hasn't wanked in a while all sorts of things he'd normally never consider start seeming like a decent idea. It's kind of like carb-cutting—you  _can_ resist the brownie—if you don't forget you wanted to resist it in the first place. Or if you don't make some dumb excuse, like it's not that much anyway and you will run extra hard to make up for it later. 

That’s kind of how it is with the plastic bottle.

Its neck is nice and round and looks like it might be nice to take it up to their room and hide it under the pillow. Otabek takes the longest showers ever. The more JJ thinks, the less bad of an idea it seems to try the bottle.

He waits until that night, until he can hear the shower safely on and Otabek splashing around. Just thinking of the bottle makes him hard, which absolutely sucks—JJ wants to get on with it, to do it _now_ , but it doesn't fit hard.

It's fucking annoying, being all keyed up for it, and no go. JJ wants to punch his pillow. The bottle had seemed like such a good idea, you can even cum inside it and there won’t be mess—

—wait.

It can’t fit hard, but maybe if JJ were to wait until it’s soft—maybe after Otabek falls asleep?

Which is how four hours later, when Otabek goes to shower before bed, JJ gets the bottle again. It can go in now, and it’s so exciting—when he gets hard the bottle would be tight around him, and fuck JJ's hand is good but this would be so much better—

And it is, at least at first; it feels so good when the neck of the bottle presses against his dick as it’s getting hard. _Oh god, this is the fucking best_ , JJ thinks—and then it hits him. He can barely move the bottle, that's how hard the neck grips the base of his dick. He can’t cum, he can’t get soft—even now, when it's stopped being fun and he's fucking _scared_. 

JJ tries to make himself breathe. He’ll just sit up and put his blanket over his legs; maybe if he waits it will go down—

That’s when Otabek comes back from the shower, already dressed, hair wet and stringy, fluffy towel on his arm.

The next twenty minutes stretch forever. Otabek puts the towel across the back of his chair, plugs in his shiny, expensive-as-fuck Motorola Razr to charge, and putters around preparing for bed.

When Otabek turns off the lights, JJ's dick is still hard.

 

**

 

Forty-five minutes later, JJ's gone from scared to full-blown terrified. It’s starting to hurt, he's not even thinking about getting off, but his dick is not going down. What if it doesn't? Can JJ get hurt—like, permanently? What if he can't get it off and his  _parents_ find out?

He imagines his dad seeing him with a bottle on his dick. Or his mom.

“Otabek.” JJ whispers, half-hoping Otabek won’t hear. “Beks!”

“What,” Otabek murmurs sleepily.

JJ's voice is small and shaky. “I need help.”

He must've sounded pretty pathetic, because Otabek doesn’t ask any questions. He just gets up, pulls off his blanket, and turns the bedside lamp on before padding across to JJ’s bed.

“Promise you won’t laugh,” JJ says.

Otabek looks at him steadily, right in the eyes. Then he nods. 

JJ removes the blanket from his lap. In the low light from the other bed, his looks horrible, even through the bottle—purple, swollen, bruised. JJ can't look. “I got stuck,” he says. “It won’t go down and I can’t get the bottle off.”

Otabek doesn't laug. That’s what gives JJ the courage to look at him. JJ sees the exact moment Otabek’s eyes narrow down from thier wide shock, when his eyebrows draw together.

“We need to cut it off," he says. "Do you have scissors?”

“There's a pair on the wall by the sink downstairs. For packages and shit.”

Otabek nods again, the same kind of small and resolute nod from when JJ’s dad first put him in the harness for a double axel. It makes JJ a little less afraid. Like it's OK to have asked for help.

JJ can’t hear Otabek on the way down or back up, which, thank God, the last thing they need is to wake his dad up. Then Otabek comes back with the huge scissors, turns on JJ’s bedside lamp and points it at JJ's purple dick.

JJ can’t. He covers his face with his hands. He hears the scissors cut through the plastic, feels the bottle tug as Otabek cuts. Feels the cool air of the room on his swollen, overheated dick. 

“It’s just the last part left now.” Otabek says quietly. "I have to stick the scissors underneath.”

And that, honest to God, hurts more than JJ has ever imagined. He almost shouts out—but at the last moment, he thinks of waking his parents and grabs his pillow instead. He bites into it, terrified.

“Stop, please stop for a minute,” he whispers, panting as the pain settles down. A tear leaks from one of his eyes.

“We can cut it with a knife from above, but what if the knife slips,” Otabek says.

JJ takes one last big breath. “OK. Go on.”

Otabek does. JJ can tell that he’s careful, but there’s only so gentle you can be when you need to press and wiggle the scissors around. JJ's full-on crying. He's beyond shame. He just wants it to end.

He doesn’t know how long it takes before the bottle neck snaps off and he can finally breathe. Now that the pain is down to a dull throb, shame and self-hatred flood in. JJ just did the stupidest, most humiliating thing in the whole world, lost all of Otabek's respect. risked a fucking  _injury_ —and for what? He should have known better. Should have  _been_ better than that. At the very least, he should've thought about the scissors and fixed it himself, even if it hurt. Instead he just stood there like some pathetic idiot—with a bottle on his dick. 

“Hey, it’s OK,” Otabek says quietly. “It happens to everyone."

 _Yeah, right_ , JJ thinks.

"Plus no one saw and I’m not telling, so.”

JJ looks up. Their eyes meet. Otabek's are steady, even. Then Otabek sits next to JJ, leaving the scissors and bottle pieces all over the floor, and gives JJ a hug.

JJ didn’t realize how much he needed it before his face is stuffed against Otabek's hair, wet and smelling like soap.

 

**

 

It’s a dumb provincial competition, but JJ’s dad says they should go for practice. JJ’s so much better than everyone there—he’s got the most jumps, the highest component score—but then he steps on the ice and his heart starts to beat, shallow and fast. He's dizzy, short of breath.

And he wobbles.

He fucks up things he knows he can nail, things he’s nailed thousands of times in practice. The more he tells himself to quit it and get his shit together, the harder his heart beats.

He finishes third in spite of his fuck-up, but he doesn’t cry. His dad squeezes his shoulder and lectures: says that skating itself—your technical and presentation score—is only half of the story. Competing is more than just that; it takes composure under pressure, a skill JJ can learn and master, too. Which is all fine and well, JJ thinks. But how can he ever hope to be anyone—to go to nationals, to Worlds, to the Olympics—if he can’t even get his shit together around a bunch of nine-year-olds—

Worst of all, Otabek saw it. Everyone saw it. Everyone thinks JJ's a loser now.

JJ sulks on their way back to the car. “Knowing your weaknesses early is a good thing. Remember, this is just another skill,” JJ's dad repeats as they buckle in. On the back seat, Otabek's quiet.

It’s dark before they get back to the house. JJ's mom has made dinner. It’s loud and messy as it always is, JJ’s little sister and brother roughhousing around. His parents don’t want to talk about his failure. Neither does Otabek.

“Why don’t you go to your room and rest, you’ve had a long day,” his mom says, and even though he hates being treated like a baby, JJ really wants to do that. To close the door on himself, curl up under his blanket facing the wall, and never come out. Ever.

“Shouldn't I help clean up?” he asks just in case. It's _his_ job—in a family, JJ's dad says, everyone helps.

“Don’t worry, son, I’ll handle it.” JJ knows his dad means to be nice, but fuck if it doesn’t make him feel even crappier. On any other day, he would insist, rebel. But today, he's too pathetic even for that. He gets up and slinks off like the loser he is.

Otabek follows, so JJ leaves his door open. Otabek closes it quietly after. JJ climbs in his bed, trying to make himself small, his nose stuck in the wall.

For some time, there is silence. Then JJ hears Otabek cross the room.

“Do you want a hug?” Otabek says from next to JJ’s bed. “It’s OK. I won’t tell anyone.” 

"Yeah," JJ says quietly. 

There's a beat—JJ can picture Otabek nod. The bed dips and Otabek settles awkwardly behind him, chest to JJ's back. It's exciting. Also, scary. JJ's never had anyone hug him like that.  

Otabek wriggles, trying to find a place for his arm, so JJ turns around—he tells himself, to give Otabek's arms space and to hug him better. Otabek pulls him close, so JJ does, too, his heart beating and full, still afraid, but this time different.

Their noses are almost together. Otabek's eyes are slanted. His lashes are black. His lips are pink and soft. JJ _looks_ as Otabek wets them with his tongue—and wants to _kiss_ him, to Otabek even closer and never let him go.

It’s so strong, JJ can’t—the only thing he can do is close his eyes so he won't do something idiotic and mess it all up.

 

**

 

Otabek leaves at the end of summer. “You should write,” he says and presses a note with his email into JJ’s palm.

JJ stands next to his bag, all packed up for the rink, and watches Otabek sink into the back seat of his mom’s car to go to Toronto International. He has no words for what he feels.

JJ has never had a friend like Otabek before. JJ will write. He’ll do anything Otabek wants him to.


	2. So I'm Petty, Sue Me

“It’s hard,” Otabek, now almost fourteen, says from JJ’s laptop screen. “It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, JJ.”

JJ knows for a fact that Otabek's done plenty hard things. Some of them, JJ was even there for. That Russian camp must be quite something.

Otabek breathes in, then out. Then continues quieter. “Compared to me, they're all fucking children, and they still make it look so easy. And like—fluid, graceful.”

The Russians that survive their training system are fucking mutants. JJ's heard they do triples when they're ten. 

“And it’s not just that camp is hard," Otabek goes on."—and it’s hard, JJ, what your parents do is fucking _nothing_ —“ 

It's true. Most of the Russians, JJ's dad says, crash and burn before they even get to seniors. It makes sense when you have, like, fifty athletes to work with and your goal is to get the most medals for your country. It's like what they did in the World Wars, JJ's dad says. Just throw warm bodies at the enemy. You'll succeed, but at an enormous cost of life. Russians used to be communists, they've got no respect for human life. 

JJ doesn't tell Otabek that. 

“—but what sucks most is, facing just how bad I am." Otabek's voice is calm and even, even when speaking about something like that. "And it's, like... all my dreams, my hopes. Everything I’ve worked for, all my parents did for me—what’s the fucking _point_  if I’ll always be a mediocre failure."

JJ shakes his head. “You aren't a failure.” 

Otabek looks down.

JJ knows self-doubt—what it's like when your thoughts go round and round your head and you can never do anything right. How hard is it to believe someone when they tell you it's not true. 

“You put yourself out of your comfort zone all the time. You do what it takes, even when it’s hard.” It's true. JJ wishes Otabek can see how much JJ respects him for that. How often he thinks of Otabek when he needs courage, even when it comes to stupid shit like how everyone shuts up when JJ tries to join their group and talk at school. "You're better off pacing yourself anyway." It's what JJ's dad says. "It's all about being strong when you cross over into seniors. It doesn't matter what you can do now."

“There’s this guy,” Otabek goes on like JJ didn't say anything. “From Moscow, but trains with Yakov in St. Petersburg. Lives there and all. He… Yakov’s got _one_ full-time junior student. And when you see that guy, you'll know why. He’s doing the toughest shit in ballet class, holds all positions perfectly, for the longest time—looks fucking beautiful. But his eyes have this _look._ It’s like he’s on a battlefield.”

“Do you like him?” JJ asks, because JJ is a good friend, steadfast and loyal.

“What the fuck, man, he’s like, ten—he’s still got a bowl cut.”

“Right.” JJ's about to say something else, but... Otabek is looking down. He's all red, hair hanging in his face, and he stays like that. Whoa. “Wait. Do you?”

“It doesn’t fucking matter.” 

“Dude. I’m not gonna tell a living soul." They've always told each other everything, ever since they met. Otabek knows shit about JJ no one else does. "I'm not gonna judge." JJ tries to be the kind of friend Otabek's been for him. This though—fucking hell. "But I need you to look at me and swear that you aren't gonna do anything.”

“What? Of course not, what the fuck!”

That sounded sincere. JJ feels bad. Maybe it's not Otabek. Maybe it's JJ seeing shit where there's none 'cause he's jealous of how Otabek talks about a fucking ten-year-old.

“Well. He won’t be ten forever,” JJ tries to lighten shit up, because he is a good friend first.

Otabek sighs. Looks at JJ, right in the face. “Dude, have you ever met someone that so far out of your league he could be a hundred and it wouldn't matter?”

I have, JJ wants to say. But he doesn’t.

 

**

 

“I’ll become a person he will be proud to be with,” Otabek declares a couple of weeks after his Russian camp is done. JJ doesn't tell him how batshit he sounds.

“It’s all been skating, skating, skating." Otabek sounds wonky, like he usually does when he hasn't spoken English in a while. "And I've realized, even at my best, I can never be… like _him_. Good on this whole other level. Like you, too, with your fucking quads.”

JJ feels warm. “No quads out of the harness, yet.”

“But it’s gonna happen. You know it, I know it. You’ve got it in you.”

“Thanks, man.” 

Otabek spends the longest time just looking at JJ. “So, I’ll be more than just a skater. I'll be a cool person all around. Like, I thought, I’ll learn to DJ. And get a motorbike.”

“You’re mental!” JJ laughs. “ Bikes are dumb, but they’re triple-dumb for a figure skater. That's, like, one accident away from the end of your career.”

“Then I’m just gonna have to not get into accidents.”

JJ can’t tear his eyes away from the careless shrug of Otabek’s shoulder. Can't tell Otabek how he thinks Otabek's already cool. “Maybe I should think up some dumb shit to get into, too,” he says instead.

“Like what.”

“I don’t know—get tattoos? Learn to play the guitar and make a band?” It’s the most ridiculous shit that he can come up with that his parents would never let him do.

But Otabek just nods at him, in that way of his. “That _would_ be cool. So, you wanna learn to play guitar?”

“It's the coolest! Of course, guitar.” Might as well be in for a pound.

 

**

 

Four years later, Plisetsky wins the Junior worlds. JJ watches on TV. Otabek hasn't mentioned it again, but JJ never forgot—and neither did Otabek, JJ’s willing to bet.

Otabek, who learned to DJ and is getting his bike license next month.

 

**

 

When JJ finally goes against him in seniors, Yuri’s exactly as good as Otabek said he was. Yeah, he’s young and all over the place, but JJ can see it, sure as Yakov could back when he’d scouted him. It’s true—it's a matter of time.

 

**

 

JJ can’t help but tease and needle him, calling him Princess, pulling on his pigtails. Izzy tells him, "He's a kid, grow up."

But JJ’s petty. Sue him.


	3. Chapter 3

The year after, JJ fucks up his GPF skate. 

Yuri does bare-bellied hydroblades and rides on the back of Otabek's rented bike.

JJ's dad lectures about how a real man holds onto a woman who'll stand by him when he finds her.

When he returns to Canada, JJ gets a ring for Isabella.

 

**

 

JJ next sees Yuri and Otabek at his wedding. 

Yuri looks uncomfortable and like he'd rather wear a flour sack than his pressed, tailored suit. JJ watches them sitting next to each other one table over. Otabek’s hand wraps around Yuri's shoulders and rests calmly, steadily, on the side of Yuri’s neck. Yuri breathes in and out, stops squirming in his chair and leans towards Otabek. JJ’s been there—he knows what it's like, having a storm inside and Otabek's hug as your rock.

Otabek wants few things in life: to be one of the best in his sport, to bring honor to his country. To be the kind of man good enough to stand next to Yuri Plisetsky. 

JJ is proud of his friend. Happy for him, too. Otabek's got all he ever said he wanted.

 

**

 

It’s JJ’s final season—Otabek’s, too, at the ripe old age of twenty-five. Yuri Plisetsky just got his first Olympic gold and, from what JJ hears, trains like he’d get a second one or die trying.

JJ should be training. He should be spending time with his wife. He should be studying. He should be doing anything but sitting on a plane to Almaty. 

Back in the day, JJ had asked: why not move in with Yuriin St. Petersburg? Surely it makes sense when you finally get the guy.

This is what Otabek said back: the Russians would welcome him, cheer for him as if he was one of their own. But he would never be an equal. That’s the point of all the training camps. If you're from the former republics, you can apply and attend—and if you're good enough, get sponsored to compete for Russia. Only the second rate stay behind. It's also not unheard of for skaters who can't cut it in Russia to compete for a former republic. 

Things are changing. Good Russian coaches are going freelance, wealthy families like Otabek's and Tursynbaeva's send their kids to train in the West (Otabek once said he envied how she could afford Brian Orser). But the subtle prejudice persists, and it gets to you. 

JJ respects that. He supposes so must Yuri.

The best flight JJ manages to with one day's notice is ten hours from Toronto to Istanbul, another seven from Istanbul to Almaty, and has a five-hour layover—almost a full day in limbo. JJ gets his ass to the airport on automatic, fueled by avoidance and denial. But Toronto—Almaty is too damn long a trip. Fuck planes and being stuck in the same seat for hours on end. JJ can't not think.

Him and Izzy, yesterday night. They fucked, and they were lying in bed, cuddling. It had been nice. JJ had been happy.

And then she’d said how she looked forward to JJ’s retirement. 

That she was so excited to finally start their life together. To move out of the cramped apartment they rent next to JJ's rink. To buy a beautiful home—their home—in a safe area, with a good school. To start a family. To build up retirement savings, now that JJ’s skating won’t be such a drain on their finances. 

She’s so happy, she’d said, to get to share the rest of her life with him.

JJ had held her close and kissed the crown of her head, all the time feeling like he needed a hug.

He knows what his father would say: that he, too, is looking forward to grandkids. That he’s proud of JJ becoming a man, settling down. His mom would be delighted with how God's grace has blessed their family.

There’s only one person in the whole wide world JJ could go to and say, “I didn't think and it all tightened around me; I need help and I'm scared.”

Calling hadn't seemed enough. JJ had needed to get up and go, to physically be somewhere different. And he'd felt such relief, buying that flight. But now he's got so much time to think—to remember. To imagine worst case scenarios. To regret his cowardice. To admit to himself that he doesn’t know whose life he is living, that he can’t breathe, that it terrifies him.

That he can't make his dad proud or Izzy happy and not feel like he's trapped and dying. He needs to escape, but doesn’t even know what he’d be throwing it all away for. He only knows that the house and the kids and _so excited to share my life with you_ is forever—all the forever JJ’s got.

Everyone around him has always had such strong opinions of what success is, what proper life goals look like—even fucking Otabek, with his DJ-ing and his bike. JJ has always found it easy to fall in line with the goals of others, to get close to them by choosing his own in a way that aligns.

He wishes someone would ask _him_ how he feels about retirement. How _he_ wants to live, what _he_ wants to do—and be patient with him while he finds the answers.

 

**

 

He lands in Almaty at five past six. By the time he’s in a cab on the way to Otabek’s apartment, it's already dark. He stares blankly at the unfamiliar streets, the storefronts with signs in both Kazakh and Russian, neither an alphabet he can read.

Otabek doesn’t know JJ is coming. JJ hasn’t called. He’d rather ask forgiveness and not get it than ask permission and risk hearing Otabek hedge. 

Otabek's building turns out to be older, in the central part of the city. There’s a row of weathered plastic buzzers one can ring to be let in. Next to one is a peeling sticker that says, “Altin.” Nothing unusual. It’s a common last name.

JJ presses it and waits. “Hi,” he says into the speaker as soon as the static cuts off with a small click.

“JJ?” Otabek sounds confused, maybe a little alarmed, but the buzzer goes and the door clicks open pretty much immediately. There’s no moment of hesitation, no “Huh? What are _you_ doing here?” JJ only realizes how tense he'd been after he feels the tension leave his body. 

He steps in a wobbly, creaky elevator. The minute he's got by himself lets it sink in: that he's here. He's gonna see Otabek. How much Otabek's acceptance means to him.

Otabek is waiting, backlit in the frame of his open front door. “Are you alright?” He says as soon as he sees him.

JJ probably looks exactly how he feels—plus a transcontinental flight. He lets his backpack drop to the floor. “I think I need a hug,” he says simply.

Otabek nods, simple, sure. “Get your shoes off and come in.”

Shoes. Right. JJ follows into the living room, and—

—Otabek is on his couch, arms spread. The middle of JJ’s chest hurts.

JJ sits on Otabek's lumpy couch and lets himself exhale as he falls in his arms. Nothing has changed and nothing is better—yet it is, now that he's here. JJ bends his head to lay it on Otabek's shoulder. Otabek seems so tiny now—or maybe it JJ that's grown. It's been far too long.

“What happened, dude?” Otabek says quietly but doesn’t let go.

JJ breathes into the knot in the middle of his chest. “I’ve fucked it all up, man. Everything. Now I’m stuck, and I can’t—I don’t know what to—“ Otabek keeps holding him, and it all comes out—the missed chances, the regrets. How JJ is a lie, a fraud. Otabek holds him and listens.

JJ doesn’t know how long it takes him to talk himself out. Eventually, he falls quiet and settles on Otabek’s chest.

Otabek’s arms never move from his back.

Time stretches.

“Remember the bottle?” Otabek says in the silence.

JJ does. Of course JJ does. “It hurt so much. But you helped me and you never mentioned it. You never laughed.”

“It scared the shit out of me,” Otabek says. “First time out of the country, a month into a new house—it looked horrible. Wasn't funny at all. I was just glad that I held it together. That it ended up fine.”

“I’m sorry.” JJ had never thought of it like that.

Above him, Otabek shifts. JJ thinks he’s probably shaking his head. “We were young and dumb. You didn't get stuck deliberately. But JJ…” This is where Otabek sighs, low, and deep and drawn out. "With this, now, I can’t cut the plastic neck of the bottle from around your dick, then have it hurt a bit and go away.”

JJ's blood freezes. "Sorry, I shouldn't have—" he starts saying as he pulls back.

“No, you idiot." Otabek pulls back. "You’ve always been special to me. Yuri and I… we gave each other a hall pass—for the married one that got away.”

JJ’s heart thunders. Because is Otabek saying—

“Yes. You're my married one.” Otabek says.  

JJ tries to say something. Nothing comes out, just memories of the night the two of them, age twelve, held each other in JJ’s bed and almost kissed. Otabek’s eyes are still slanted, his lashes still thick. His lips soft and pink.

“We can sleep together now—I'm allowed: rules are, don't ask, don't tell if you don't want to. You can tell Isabella, your mom, your dad. They'll be mad, she'll be hurt, she might even ask for divorce. And yeah, it might go away but… it would still be you sitting there, helpless, and someone else fixing it for you. It never would've been because you stood up for yourself and sorted it out. You need to take responsibility, man. Decide who you are and what you want. Then be a man and own it. To Izzy, to your mom, to your dad. You need to… act. Not act out.”

 _Be a man_. 

_Responsibility._

JJ's mind is a little bit blown. He's heard both of those before, but for Alan, they'd always meant  _do what's expected of you._ And here Otabek says—

But Otabek's right. JJ knows that he's right. 

 JJ disentangles himself and sits with his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. “Why do you have to make that much sense.” He sighs again. Then he rubs his face and gets up. "Just sucks I’ll miss out on the hall pass.”

“That doesn’t expire,” Otabek says calmly. “Go sort yourself out, then come back.”

JJ will. Just, he’s loved Otabek for so long that part of him thinks he’d better not. He doubts he can kiss Otabek then just move on with his life.

“What?”

“I’d like that,” JJ says quietly. And then, because he owes Otabek the best of himself: “Though do talk to Yuri. It’s one thing to agree to it in theory, when you think it probably won't happen. He might change his mind—especially if he hasn’t had a chance with his married person yet.”

Otabek nods at him. “Thanks. Hadn’t thought of it like that.”

JJ’s not surprised. But just because it would never occur to Otabek that sleeping with JJ would make him love Yuri any less, doesn’t mean that Yuri won’t get insecure or jealous. _I don’t want to be the reason you can’t_ , Izzy had told him once. _I want to be the reason you don’t_. And at the time, JJ had thought he could give her that.

 

**

 

Back in Toronto, JJ gets himself a therapist. He hasn’t been to one since his parents sent him to talk about getting anxious in competition. It had helped at the time. Still does.

The most important thing the therapist tells him is this: the bisexual thing, Otabek, Yuri, none of that matters. You don't need to have a "good enough" reason. Not wanting to stay married is enough. JJ's doing no one any favors—not his parents, not Izzy, not his future children—if he goes into it feeling trapped and half-hearted.

His kids deserve better. Izzy deserves better.

 

**

A couple of days later, he gets an international call from an unknown number. “JJ Leroy speaking,” he says, picking up.

“Hey asshole.” A heavily accented, grumpy voice. JJ’s almost tempted to taunt back.

“Yes?” He says instead. Owning it, and all that.

“Just so we’re clear. If you mess this up, I’ll take your nuts and your eyeballs, I’ll put them in my blender, and I’ll feed them to my cat. Clear?”

“Crystal.” JJ says. Strangely, it makes him feel better that Yuri’s first priority is to give JJ the shovel talk. “I don’t want to mess it up either. Good?”

“Good.” Yuri says and hangs up. 

Otabek never did like them easy, JJ thinks, bemused. JJ’s own fucked up ass is case in point.

 

**

 

Izzy doesn’t take it well. She wants to go to couple’s counselling. To work on it.

JJ goes, and goes to his own therapist, too.

He can’t believe how strong it is, the drive to pacify, to go with it, to take the way of least resistance. And he could—he and Izzy have always gotten along. But there’s no misunderstanding to solve, or hidden resentments to be ironed out. No, “Let's shelve it for now. You can sort out your retirement, and then in a couple of years we can see about the house and the kids” compromise that can be done, as per JJ's dad.

Izzy is hurt and angry that he doesn’t want to work it out, his mom is disappointed, his dad is warning him not to throw away a good thing—that Izzy will make a good mother and an excellent wife.

JJ’s got no argument with that. He is sure she will.

Just not to him.

 

**

 

“Is there anything at all that can change your mind about this?” Their couples counsellor asks him, likely trying to end their misery already.

JJ is tempted to end their misery, already, too. That’s the other line of least resistance: he could say something confrontational, or something not quite true—he cheated, he's gay—anything to make Izzy so mad she gives up already. To avoid responsibility. Make it so it's  _she_  who walks away.

 

**

 

JJ's therapist listens him complain about how stuck he is for fifteen minutes. At the end, she says, “You do realize that even if there were something you could work through and somehow stay married, it’s still OK to not want to?”

JJ looks at her. No, he doesn’t. Good Catholics don’t give up on their marriages. Good athletes never question the step between finding out there’s something you could work on and the fact that you’re going to work on it. Real men don't flake out on their responsibilities on a whim.

“It is an actual, legitimate choice you can make. You're allowed to choose to not work on the relationship any longer.”

“Even if it’s there’s something that can be done?”

His therapist looks at him, nodding. “Even if it’s there’s something that can be done.”

She lets the silence stretch.

“Wouldn’t that make me a bad person?” JJ says, rubbing behind his neck.

“It would make you a person who is honest about where he is right now. And it would set her free to look for someone who would want to work on a relationship with her. Wouldn’t you say she deserves that?”

 

**

 

JJ knows what his father would say: a real man doesn’t walk out on his wife when she's done nothing wrong.

JJ wonders if his father ever wanted to walk out on his sweet, dutiful wife and their three kids. If Alan says these things to JJ because of how he’s needed to keep repeating them to himself. Or whether Alan sees his sticking with his family as an accomplishment—kinda like JJ feels like he’s done a good job as an athlete if he sticks to his training schedule and keeps jumping clean quads. 

JJ wonders who he’d be if he’s not a husband and an athlete any longer. What it would mean to be good at the other things—the ones you don’t retire from and you cannot escape: being a good son, a good brother, a good friend. And the one he can escape least of all—being himself, being JJ. 

His therapist doesn’t have an answer. She just tells him he’s asking the right questions.

 

**

 

He’s got no clue what he wants to do after he retires. But he does know what will make him happy: meeting Otabek at Toronto International, taking the handle of his suitcase, and kissing the chill off his lips.

 

**

 

 _What happens if I want to sleep with him more than once?_ JJ texts what he now knows is Yuri’s number.

_Four times a year. That’s how often my slag can get away from his husband. And shut up about it cause I’m not sure the pig knows_

Well, then. How about _that_.

 

**

 

_Are the two of you making timeshare arrangements behind my back? How about, you know, consulting me?_

Otabek sounds mad. JJ supposes he and Yuri did mess this one up. He’d offer blowjobs to make up for it, just—

Just.

Half an hour later, he picks up his cell phone. He apologizes instead.

 

**

 

 _I need you to understand that whatever happens, I am Otabek’s primary partner,_ Yuri texts him, apropos of nothing. And wow, the whole new world that opens up when JJ types that into Google.

 

**

 

 _You’re not being an ethical slut_ , JJ texts back a couple of days later.

_So you’d have turned down Otabek if you thought he might be cheating?_

JJ thinks back to that night in Otabek’s Almaty apartment. JJ’s already knows what regret tastes like. He wouldn't have risked another missed opportunity. So, if Otabek had gone for it?

 _...Touché_ , he texts back.

 _Nuts, eyeballs, blender, cat,_ Yuri says, complete with a gif or a mean-looking black cat filing its nails sharp.

_Don’t worry, Princess. My life is a mess in every single other way. I want to do this right._

_Good,_ Yuri says.

 

**

 

It goes slow—dribs by tiny drabs, both with Izzy and with the occasional messages that come from Otabek and Yuri. That’s a good thing—their first priority is training, and JJ, for one, doesn’t think he could've handled it going any faster.

He keeps seeing his therapist—turns out it’s pretty common to have no bleeding clue what you’re doing and to be making shit up as you go along. Who would’a thunk. Certainly not JJ, whose life's run on a predetermined set of "correct" steps that his mom and dad could tell him.

 

**

 

 _So I think I want to be in the room while you guys do it_ , Yuri texts one day, and JJ briefly marvels at how this is his life.

_Not doing this without Otabek, Princess—remember how pissed he got last time._

There’s at least three hours before the response comes.

_I’m freaking out_

JJ’s eyebrows fly into his hairline. Yuri Plisetsky, showing vulnerability? Voluntarily? Without having it tortured out of him? But yeah, no shit—it’s easy handing out hall passes when it’s you fucking Nikiforov on the side and your loyal boyfriend waiting for you at home. It's a different ballgame altogether, needing to face your own shit. 

What Yuri—or anyone—sees in Nikiforov is a mystery: he does good choreo, but he’s turned into a bald, pot-bellied has-been who walks with a slight limp and queens a tad too hard. Katsuki, he gets—it’s different when you grow old together. But Yuri? Fit, young, top of his career—that one will be a mystery for the ages.

JJ waits until after his therapy appointment to write Yuri back. He’s serious about wanting to get it right. _Then you should be talking to Otabek,_ he types.

_I am talking to him._

_So you should be talking to him more. But seriously, Princess, you've got nothing to worry about._

_Yeah, of course that's what you'll say._

Being insecure doesn’t have to make sense, but… really. _I was there for the entire length of his crush on you, which if I can add started a good couple of years_ before _you guys were dating._ Hell, Otabek is who he is partly so he could be worthy of Yuri. 

Yuri doesn't write anything for a while. So, eventually, JJ just types,  _Look, how about we put a pause on this for now_. _B_ _oth you and I will be at Worlds. Beks, too. So how about the three of us go to dinner and talk it out._ In person, and all that. 

_I’ll wipe the ice with you_

JJ giggles at that. _Welcome to try!_ In all honesty, he probably will. Yuri is five years younger and on top of his game. 

JJ finds he’s strangely fine with that.

 

**

 

It’s bloody maddening how everyone in JJ’s life insists that JJ’s doesn’t know his own mind. Izzy is talking to his parents, taking advice from his mom. Everyone, including his dad, is treating him like he’s "just stressed," and "under too much pressure," and should be treated with kid gloves so he can "focus on his skating." He overhears his dad tell Izzy that JJ will snap out of it and “do the right thing” once he’s had the chance to rest up. They all treat him like an unreasonable teenager going through a phase.

It takes JJs therapist quite a bit of wheedling for JJ to access how blindingly, maddeningly angry it makes him.  

**

 

His next appointment is the first time he cries. Under the anger, it just  _hurts._  His parents put all this effort into making him "successful"—and he'd thought it love, their hard work at making him into who they want him to be. But they never cared to help him find out who he actually is—to ask him questions, to be patient with him until he finds the answers. They never really cared to get to know him. 

Izzy never really cared to get to know him either. All she'd ever done was match him against her own idea for her best white picket-fence life. JJ doesn't know if he can blame her, given that he never really knew himself.

JJ really doesn’t need this shake-up in his support system, not two months before worlds. Not when Izzy is pretty much his only friend and his dad is also his coach.

 

**

 

A couple of weeks later, he’s telling his therapist how much he resents not being taken seriously when she says the thing that flips his world around. “Your thoughts and feelings are valid even if your wife and parents don’t validate them. You do realize that, right?”

He blinks and stares at her for a couple of seconds, because at first he doesn’t understand.

“You are allowed to have preferences and to act on them even if others don’t explicitly tell you it’s okay.”

A flood follows: his private big bang, ending his universe—or maybe making it all begin. Because that’s what he’s been doing, hasn’t he? Once he’d started to have these new thoughts and feelings, he’d brought them to Izzy, to his mom, to his dad. And he’d wanted them to be interested, to ask questions so he'd feel his thoughts are significant and it's OK to have some more. 

But they didn’t given him permission, neither to think new things nor to rearrange his life accordingly, and he'd felt powerless, resentful—just like when they’d used to tell him he wasn’t allowed to stay out late or go to a classmate's party.

“It’s natural to want validation from those closest to us," his therapist says softly. JJ follows her hand as it waves, holding a pen. "It feels like recognition, like respect. Like we’re seen... But right now, you’re not acting because they haven’t taken you seriously. And they haven't taken you seriously because you aren’t acting.”

And it’s true, isn’t it? He might have told them all these things, but he’s still working with his dad and going home to his rented one-bedroom with Izzy. He’s been postponing the upheaval—worlds are coming. But maybe he shouldn’t have. Maybe he deserves better. Maybe _she_ deserves better than being led on.

 

**

 

“I’m moving out next month,” he tells her that night over dinner. She immediately gives arguments against, tries to dissuade him. Letting her voice wash over him, JJ realizes he’s still doing it: implicitly asking for her to OK it instead of calling their landlord so he can be done with it.

“I wasn’t starting a discussion,” he tells her calmly when she winds down. “I was letting you know so you can plan.”

She cries all night; curls up on the couch with her back turned to him. It used to be that a display like this would make him pacify, backtrack. Now he looks at her, detached. Her feelings are her feelings—she can be disappointed, hurt, and angry, but it’s no longer his responsibility.

The following day, for the first time in his life, he gives his father a call and tells him that today, he won't be at the rink, mindlessly following his training plan.

Instead, he goes to a family lawyer and files for divorce.

 

**

 

He calls Otabek from a coffee shop before he goes home.

It’s when Otabek picks up, half asleep, face thrown into sharp shadows from the bedside lamp, that JJ remembers Almaty is eleven hours behind and it’s butt fuck o’clock there now.

But Otabek picked up.

Otabek saw it’s JJ, and he _picked up_.

JJ takes a deep breath. “I filed today. I’m divorcing her,” he says into the tiny headphones microphone.

Otabek looks at him steadily and nods, in that way of his he has. A blond head, just as drowsy and muttering obscenities in Russian, peers at him the corner of the screen.  “Fuck you, JJ,” Yuri says, and flops back down.

Otabek’s arm stretches out to touch him.

JJ shouldn't have woken them up. “Sorry. Didn’t think of the time.”

Otabek nods again, looks at the screen. That nod is all it takes for JJ to feel seen, accepted, warm. It brings home all the small ways in which he _hasn’t_ felt like that with his parents and Izzy. Not in a long time.

JJ exhales. “Well. Don’t want to keep you up. Just… needed to tell someone.”

“You’re fucking nuts, it’s _one_ month before worlds,” Yuri mutters from the side.

“Says the guy who disrupted his training to visit Otabek.”

“We’re hitting the rink in a couple of hours,” Otabek says.

JJ wouldn’t expect anything less. “Good luck,” he says. “See you both in a month. Princess, prepare to get your butt kicked.” Old habits die hard.

“You fucking wish.”

JJ does. It’s his last season. He wants to end it on a bang.

 

**

 

Paradoxically, all the upheaval leaves him strangely level and focused. He has concrete steps to focus on—finding a decent studio, arranging his move, hitting the rink and putting in time.

His father doesn't say much, but JJ can tell he  _disapproves._  But Alan is, first and foremost, an athlete and a coach. So he doesn't criticize or try to dissuade him—probably leaving it all for next month.

The therapist helps. He’s seeing her twice a week, now. Another amazing revelation he has is that you don’t need to have a plan for the rest of your life. It's OK to not constantly try to achieve goals—to, instead, simply have  _experiences_.

So he starts a list. Many things make it in (after the unofficial numbers one and two: kissing his first boy and sucking his dick). JJ stares at his list for a while and comes up with backpacking.

Alan purses his lips when JJ lets him know. At least JJ's therapist approves.

So instead of renting a place, JJ checks into an AirBnb for two weeks and begins, little by little, to box his things up and move them into storage.

From Otabek, he gets sincere interest—where he’d like to go, what he’d like to do. His mom tries to ask him the same, but anxiety comes off of her in waves—she’s not excited for him, she is _afraid._  Something might happen. Would he be safe; would they have medical care.

It chafes. She cares more about avoiding her own fear and discomfort than she cares about him finally growing up—and she dresses it in _concern—_ and JJ is angry until his therapist reminds him that JJ is allowed to travel, learn, and grow—and enjoy himself while he does it regardless of his mother’s feelings about her oldest leaving the nest.

Those are hers, not his, to manage.

 

**

 

It’s ten days to Worlds and JJ is packing up. It’s good to arrive at major events with a couple of days to spare so you can adjust to the time difference and the climate. Between folding underwear and stacking up gear, he sends off a text: _Hey dude, just wanted to say, we don’t have to do anything if he’s worried. I know he’s important to you._ It’s been at the back of his mind. He should let Otabek know.

 _Any ideas how to get this into his thick head?_ Otabek texts back.  _I would never leave him, but enough people in the past did so he worries._

JJ thinks about it. He’s never heard anything about Yuri’s parents. But he did hear about Yuri running away to follow Victor to Japan, and about his grandpa dying of a heart attack a couple of years later. He figures if he were Yuri Plisetsky, he’d be afraid of losing people, too.

Backpacking afterwards would be good—it would let the two of them re-bond, and it would let JJ process without latching onto Otabek’s skirts.

 

**

 

On the plane, sitting next to mom and dad, JJ thinks. With Otabek, JJ can fall hard—he can be obsessed, he can crave, he can miss and his heart can hurt. He knows this—it’s a big part of why he’d always held back.

What he didn't realize is that it's why he’d chosen Izzy—a girl he could love tamely, safely, and without having it consume his soul.

 

**

 

JJ steps on the ice calmer than he’s ever been. It’s amazing how things fall into place when you let go of _I have to—_ not fuck up, achieve a certain score, land this combination, please my dad.

His composite score is a personal best—he smiles, wider and freer than ever before. But Plisetsky is a mad bastard who throws in an unplanned quad, for a total of _eight._ JJ has seen Yuri collapse on his knees before, but he's never seen anyone carried out on a stretcher with exhaustion—no injury, just thighs shaky enough not to want to risk it on the way out.

He watches Yuri fall into Victor Nikiforov’s arms. It was Nikiforov’s choreography, as always, and JJ takes a moment to imagine what it would be like to fit your head under someone’s chin and be told, _I’m so proud of you, you did so well._

Nikiforov pets Yuri's braided hair twice before he lets go and they arrange themselves on the kiss and cry—the old, perpetually cranky Russian coach on one side, Nikiforov on the other. Yuri holds both their hands as they wait for his score.

 

**

 

“Congratulations!” JJ shakes Yuri's hand across the podium.

The height seems to put Yuri all of two centimeters above him. Yuri works all two of them as he looks down. It's a good feeling. JJ smiles.

 

**

 

Otabek places fifth.

 

**

 

_Not tonight. He’ll need to sulk and I’ll need to make it up to him._

_OK,_ JJ texts, then wonders if he’s been a good enough friend over the years when Otabek had scored behind him. Then he wonders if his current drama and it’s spill-off to Yuri was too much of a distraction.

In the end, JJ skated better than he had in years. Yuri’s crazy competitive streak made for an excellent show. But what about Otabek?

_Make reservations for after the gala. It’s your treat._

_Fair enough. I need to make it up to him, too._

 

**

 

JJ decides to actually walks around town to check out restaurants. It’s an excellent excuse not to spend time with his dad, who’s been pushing for having “dinner and a father-son talk.” He chooses a mid-range one with good reviews and makes reservations for a private booth at the back. He figures Yuri and Otabek would want to sit next to each other.

When they meet up for dinner, it's weirdly, unsettlingly normal. Otabek makes eyes at Yuri, Yuri sasses JJ, JJ sasses back but not too hard. It goes like a regular dinner would go—at least how JJ imagines it would have gone if they weren't about to discuss how one of them hopes to have his first ever guy-on-guy experience with the boyfriend of the other.

They even order dessert. 

Yuri calls JJ a carb-deprived hoe, so JJ orders himself and Otabek whiskeys—just to spite Yuri who's still not legal to drink.

Sulking, Yuri slinks off to the bathroom. Otabek looks at his retreating back. 

JJ looks at Otabek's face as it relaxes and grows serious, at Otabek's shoulders as they square and level out.

“So. I think I’m not retiring yet,” Otabek says, looking down at his whiskey glass.

JJ probably wouldn’t have either, in Otabek's place. “I’m sorry, man. My drama distracted you.”

Otabek shakes his head. “It distracted you and Yuri, too, and look how that turned out.” He takes a deep breath, then looks up. “Congratulations, by the way. I’m happy for both of you. You both deserved it. That was excellent skating.”

It was fucking mental is what it was, JJ doesn’t say. Yuri took a risk. It panned out, but it could’ve ended up with serious injury, too. Saving himself for the Olympics should’ve been much higher on Yuri's list of priorities than beating JJ. That dour coach of his has probably chewed him out already, too—deservedly so.

Otabek looks down. JJ almost doesn’t hear him when he says, “I just have trouble accepting that all I ever was was mediocre.”

That's just bullshit—though JJ doesn’t know what to tell Otabek that won’t sound like a platitude.

“I feel you man,” he says in the end. “A year ago, I don’t think I would’ve been fine even with silver. But yesterday, I was.” He had surprised even himself—able to appreciate his own accomplishments and sincerely glad for Yuri. “And you know why I think it was?”

Otabek shakes his head.

Because I did a fuckload of therapy, JJ doesn't say.

“I spent all this time defining success for myself. Thinking about what a good life looks like for me, across all areas of my life. What things I want to experience, what I want to do after. Really helped with not having skating be my be-all end-all.” He hadn’t done it deliberately, and he hadn’t realized it happened until it already had. But it’s the best advice he’s got.

“Plus, you’re not mediocre.” JJ takes a sip of his drink, trying to somehow lighten things up. “And you fucking know that. Being one of the six people in the world that are best at something isn’t mediocre. Compare yourself to yourself, not to fucking Plisetsky. He’s fucking mental, he’ll probably retire in a wheelchair.”

It works. Otabek smiles.

“You’re just pissed that I beat you,” Yuri says, coming back. “You guys done with the deep meaningful soul talk?”

“Yeah,” JJ says. Otabek nods.

“So?” Yuri says.

“So.” JJ turns to Yuri. “I thought about it, and I think I’d like you to be there, too.” JJ doesn’t want to hold onto any illusions. “I want to remember he’s yours.”

Otabek looks at him, eyebrow raised. But Otabek doesn’t get it: how JJ’s wanted, in how much denial he’s been, and for how long.

JJ turns to Yuri. “Would you be doing anything or just watching?”

Yuri swallows. “I want veto power.” He goes for bravado, but his voice wobbles.

“Dude. _Dude_.” JJ says, because this nonsense has gone on long enough. “You do realize that the first time he saw you, he was on Skype with me, telling me how awesome you are and how he was gonna learn to DJ and ride a bike because he wanted to be good enough to be your boyfriend one day.”

They’re red. Both of them. Embarrassed. _Good._ Fucking serves them well. “If what you want is to be in the room and to have veto power," JJ goes on, "fine. But do it because you actually want to—because you’ll get off on seeing me and Otabek together and on having that control. But if what you really want is for this _not_ to happen, then it shouldn't. Even if you take advantage of your hall pass, doesn't mean it has to.”

Yuri turns even redder and starts ranting at Otabek in Russian—complete with actual crocodile tears and hiccoughs when he tries to catch his breath. Immediately, Otabek is all over him, soothing. JJ can imagine—“I want to be the reason you don’t, not the reason you can’t.” Add to that the Victor Nikiforov dumpster firestorm and wanting to be fair to Otabek—and yeah.

JJ wants Otabek, but he doesn’t want this.

Otabek keeps talking to Yuri, gently, calmly.

Finally, Yuri takes a breath. His chin shots up, his shoulders square. “Right. You’ve got until ten tomorrow morning,” he tells JJ. “The occasional mark is fine, but don’t go to town. And not in our room." He turn to Otabek. "I’ll wait for you there tomorrow, OK?”

Otabek nods and squeezes his hand.

Yuri gets up, speaking Russian into his phone as he walks out.

“Is he gonna be fine?” JJ says.

Otabek gives that nod of his. “He’s tougher than he looks. Plus, he’s not gonna be alone.”

“Nikiforov?” JJ says.

Otabek doesn’t confirm or deny, which answers _that_. Also, Katsuki probably doesn’t know. “That’s messed up,” JJ says.

“Dude, you got your dick stuck in a water bottle,” Otabek teases quietly, eyes crinkling.

It’s strange to have it brought up, but it somehow feels like it’s been long enough, like he can laugh about it now. “I was dumb and horny. What’s _his_ excuse?”

Otabek’s smile fades and he looks in the middle distance. That’s when—way too late, as always—JJ figured out that Otabek was deflecting and that JJ should have let it go.

“They’ve got their thing,” Otabek says eventually. “That rink—it’s like having been to war. You’ve gotta have been there to get it." JJ believes it. Otabek was at a couple of the Russian-language training camps. He's gotta know what he's talking about.

Otabek drinks up what's left in his glass. "And you want to have a normal life, but every now and then, you just gotta let loose around someone who knows what it's like.”

"Like telling 'Nam stories," JJ tries to lighten it up.

“Something like that.”

"And you're not jealous and shit?"

Otabek tilts his head. "It's actually better. If it were just me, I'd constantly worry that I wasn't enough. That there's stuff he needs I can't give him."

 _That_ is absolutely _weird_ to JJ. 

"He comes back to me after, you know," Otabek says. "He says he's with me first and I believe him. Might be more worried if Nikiforov divorces. But he doesn't look like he will."

"Well. You're more fun than Nikiforov." Bikes, DJ-ing, the works. "And you take good care of the Princess, so."

Otabek doesn't say anything. 

JJ takes a sip of his own drink, then breaks the silence. “Are you sure it'll be OK, dude?” What he wants to say is, this kid needs therapy even more than I do. 

“Yeah. It'll be fine. You said it—nothing needs to happen.”

"Right."

“Look, this is intense for me, too," Otabek says. "I would probably only be up for kissing and cuddling and getting each other off. Like, handjobs. Take it slow.”

JJ steels himself. “I want to blow you.”  

“OK. But I won’t. Not yet.”

“Fair enough, dude. Whatever you want.” Part of JJ’s brain can’t help but be hung up on that _yet._ Whatever else happens, he’s glad this won’t be a one-time deal. It takes off the pressure—and it is outright awesome, having Otabek be part of JJ life in this way.

“I also want to sleep together,” JJ says. “Sleep-sleep. Mess around a little bit tomorrow morning, too.”

“Sounds good.” Otabek picks up his phone and starts typing. Probably texting Yuri.

JJ takes in Otabek's small, private smile, then sends a text, too—to his dad, that he won’t be back. Then he leaves a hundred dollar bill on the table and gets up to start the rest of his life.

Otabek’s fingers slide into his on the way out.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Reddit user u/tuza227, who on a r/AskMen thread called _What's the weirdest thing you've ever stuck your dick into_ spoke of his 11 y/o self's experiences with trying to fuck a plastic bottle.
> 
> Btw, the entire thread is gold: https:///www.reddit.com//r/AskMen/comments/am13za/whats_the_strangestmost_interesting_thing_youve/


End file.
